Duty
by froovygirl
Summary: One-shot AU set during ATOC. Anakin and Padme's reunion after 10 years apart comes on her wedding day… to someone else.


**Disclaimer: They belong to George Lucas, not me. I'm just borrowing for a bit. **

_Varykino retreat, Naboo, just before the vote on the Military Creation Act_

"You must be deliriously happy, Senator," they'd repeated, one after another, as her new husband's hand had grown sticky in hers.

Yes, of course I am, had been her static reply, and, oddly, it reminded her of how automatic she'd become in her senatorial dealings of late: "Yes, of course, Chancellor," and "We'll pursue further negotiations" were responses that nagged in a similar vein.

Truth be told, it was becoming oppressively warm on the balcony overlooking a stunning Nubian sunset, and Padme had grown tired of all the fuss. Though it was her wedding day, there was still much to be done regarding citizen unrest in Cato Neimoidia, the burgeoning Separatist movement and, of course, ongoing slavery throughout the Outer Rim Territories needed constant attention.

Not for the first time, she thought of Tatooine.

She supposed her flash of memory to that desolate planet had everything to do with the uncharacteristic humidity this day on her homeland. After all, her first experience with smoldering heat had come on the planet bathed in dual sunlight.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with the loathsome presence of two Jedi keeping dutiful eyes on the event. Wearing unadorned robes and dour expressions, they'd stood out almost comically among the jovial guests.

Padme had fought the protection of the Jedi, much to the consternation of fellow senators. Bail Organa, in particular, had raised an eyebrow at her vehement argument.

In the end, the chancellor himself had insisted that the Jedi assist her personal security detail on this most momentous of days, as whispers of assassins swirled throughout her home planet.

The presence of the Jedi reminded Padme, yet again, of what her life had become. For the first time, she was rankled that duty to her people and to her planet came with a dear cost.

Having the loss of her freedom disguised in the elaborate pomp of a marriage ceremony angered her even more, and strangely, conjured the memory of a long-ago declaration from a strange little boy:

"_I'm a person, and my name is Anakin!"_

She found herself casting sideways glances at those in the muddy cloaks, searching for a certain pair of azure eyes, then scolding herself for the indulgence.

Once she'd pledged her loyalty – but not, both she and her groom noted silently, her _love_ – to Clovis, they'd embarked on the traditions of newlywed couples. The groom seemed willingly swept into the role of adoring husband, showing feckless affection that unsettled her. Once, when his cold lips touched her neck, she recoiled as if scorched by a light saber.

A light saber. Why would she equate it to that? Really, this business of arranged matrimony was stealing her sanity.

Then, she spied a young Jedi who had suddenly appeared, and his presence was jolting. He was quite tall, but carried his height with effortless grace and a certain… swagger. What wasn't hidden of his face told her it was smooth and angular, but bore many shadows for one so young.

He's no older than twenty, she estimated, trying to get a better look at his features underneath the voluminous hood.

Nineteen, perhaps.

"It is delightful to see you again, Senator."

Padme turned, the stiff Nubian lace of her elaborate dress hindering her. "Obi-Wan!" Discarding protocol, she hurried from her new husband's side to warmly enfold the Jedi Master in an embrace. "Thank the Force you're in one piece."

"I do try." His eyes were as serious as she remembered. "On behalf of the Jedi Order, I wish you the utmost congratulations on your marriage."

Padme quirked an eyebrow, a glint of mischief. "Must you always be so formal, _Master Jedi?_ I've asked you several times, on several occasions, to call me Padme."

Before Obi-Wan could respond, Clovis inserted himself conspicuously into their conversation, prideful and a tad smug. "I would think your appropriate title today would be Mrs. Rush, Milady."

"I'll continue to be addressed as Senator Amidala," Padme corrected swiftly, more for the Jedi Master's knowledge than her new spouse, who Force well already knew that.

Obi-Wan's slate eyes glittered as he assessed Clovis Rush with a look that was passively critical. His conclusion, the senator knew, would remain in his own keeping.

"Noted, Senator _Amidala_," Obi-Wan answered with cool politeness, gaze subtly wandering the balcony. That quiet energy was about him again, a readiness to diffuse or respond to whatever the situation warranted.

His head swung toward the young, mysteriously hooded Jedi. Padme noted the swift, non-verbal communication flitting quickly between them – no more than a quirk of a brow seemed to convey several sentences before the younger Jedi made his way toward an exit in a few casual strides. Padme saw him discreetly assess a dark corner with curious eyes, then seem to decide it posed no particular threat. She felt her heart quickening under the Japor snippet she'd worn as "something old" while the young padawan shook his head at his master, a long braid as golden as the sun swaying under his hood.

Then, his focus strayed almost imperceptibly from Obi-Wan to Padme. She would've missed it if she hadn't been unabashedly staring herself. She caught a particular look in the padawan's eyes, a flicker of something akin to summer lightning in his gaze that had been so tranquilly ambivalent.

His eyes were _blue_ – as brilliant and unforgettable as the skies of a land where he'd once carved a starkly-beautiful snippet, just for her.

Anakin Skywalker, grown up before her eyes.

There was something almost regal in the way the boy – _man_, she corrected inwardly – held himself, ever watchful yet stately unobtrusive, confidence radiating from his lanky frame – he's so tall now! Towering, nimble and utterly, magnificently _dangerous._

He'd turned his back as the last in the receiving line stood before her in their resplendent finery and chirped variations of "You must be quite happy, Padme."

Clovis had already murmured, "Yes, of course," and was kissing the dignitary from Alderaan's cheek with diplomatic purpose. The absence of the bride's reply was obvious in the humid air.

Unexpectedly, the young padawan's gaze darted back, skimming the others to settle on the newlywed senator from Naboo. For the first time that day, Anakin Skywalker's mouth twitched to the semblance of a smile that Padme was certain could become downright wolfish, if coaxed just so.

In a wicked second, she longed to provoke that smile.

With a determined breath, Padme braced her full attention to the envoy from Alderaan, offering a grateful expression even as flutters of exhilaration raced through her veins.

_He_ was still watching her, making her breathless without even the brush of a finger. She shuddered to think how her body would react if, Force forbid, they were ever to meet alone in the moonlight on this very balcony…

By the Nubian goddesses, _where_ were her thoughts? He was the same child whose sandy head had scarcely reached her waistline not so many years ago!

"Wonderful to see you, Madame," Padme greeted as she clasped Clovis' damp hand in hers – it seemed _so_ gangly now, a clumsy fit for her petite palm.

She could still see the padawan out of the corner of her eye. And, as sure as she was of his unflinching vigilance, she was also, somehow, certain that he'd imprinted a vision of her in his heart for safekeeping.

She steeled, coolly preserving this new, arresting image of Anakin Skywalker firmly in her mind.

"Yes, I am quite happy," she recited in the practiced voice she'd honed from years of public service.

She would not chance another glance at Ani, although she could feel his eyes upon her, searing deeper into her skin than the rays of the Nubian sun. The weight of her people and her planet had never felt so arduous on her shoulders.

_I am senator, and my name is Padme. _

With a resigned exhale, she gathered her resilience, excised the quiver from her body and squared her petite frame.

"Indeed, Madame. For I must be."

_finis_

**As always, please regale me with your thoughts, opinions, suggestions, remarks and whatever else this story provoked from you. **


End file.
